


Trio

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, James Bond Takes Care of Q, M/M, Protective James Bond, Q is baby, multiple one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Trio of tiny shorts for The Love--Q needs a break. James wants to ensure that happens.--James was supposed to be a bodyguard. He wasn't supposed to fall in love.--Q doesn't believe in the Sweater Curse, but, well...
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	1. Break time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timetospy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/gifts), [roseforthethorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/gifts).



> Gifting to timetospy PURELY because Sweater Curse is a continuation of Knitwit, which she started. So. Yeah.
> 
> Gifting to Rosie because these were originally for her and I love her.

“You need to go in the sunlight.”

“There’s windows, James. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” James walked over behind Q, wrapped his hands around Q’s scrawny ribcage, and lifted him right out of his chair, making Q yelp and kick. But James just tossed him in the air a little and swept him up into James’ arms, grinning as Q glared at him. “Come on, let’s get you aired out.”

“I _told_ you, James, I am _fine_ —”

“Er, sir?”

Q snapped his attention to the techie standing in the doorway, staring at them with wide eyes. James refused to put Q down. “What is it?” Q asked calmly, as if he hadn’t just been squawking like an angry child a few seconds before.

“The latest blueprints are ready. Do you want me to just leave them on your desk?” the techie asked timidly, looking from Q to James and back. Q tried to squirm out of James’ arms, but James simply adjusted his grip more securely.

“Fine,” Q grumped with ill grace. “Yes, just leave them on the desk. May I at _least_ shut my computer down, Bond?”

James walked back to the desk and crouched a little so Q could reach his keyboard. With a sour glance, Q shut everything down, and then permitted James to carry him out of his office.

The other techies barely glanced up from their tasks. This was not the first time James had stolen their quartermaster to get him aired out and warmed up, and it unfortunately would not be the last, but once they were out of the branch, Q sighed heavily and said, “I’ll walk now, James.”

James set him down gently, but kept his arm around Q’s waist and propelled him to a breakroom with windows. He’d take Q to the roof, or even to the park, but there wasn’t time for that. A half hour in front of a window was good enough.

Q might deny it with his entire soul, but he was one of those people who turned to the sun like a flower. After a quick glance to make sure there was no one else in the room, Q went straight for the window, snagging a chair along the way to sit in the sunlight and close his eyes. It was a rare day, few clouds, bright sunlight that was quite a commodity in foggy London. James stood beside Q and set his hand on the back of the chair; Q leaned his head back to rest it on James’ arm.

“Okay, this is nice,” Q admitted, like he always did.

“I’m glad,” James said simply, like always.

After an hour of baking out the chill of the labs, Q sighed regretfully, and James escorted him back downstairs. A quick kiss on the temple, a murmured promise to pick Q up at midnight to take him home, and James pulled away at the branch door.

Q grabbed his arm, dragged him back, and gave him a nice big smooch on the lips, then pulled away, grinning, and said, “See you at midnight.”

James was quite happy for the rest of the day.


	2. Protect

James was quite sure this was not part of the job, but he was also quite sure he didn’t care.

Q may have been the son of a hated tech mogul, but he had never been in mortal danger. Tonight’s fire-fight had brought home to him that he was not safe by being neutral in his father’s miniature wars; he was simply collateral damage. And so as soon as they reached the safe house, and James had secured the room, Q had crumpled and started crying.

It was not the hideously loud sobbing of a baby; he was quiet as he wept, and hissed as James bandaged his hands, burned when he grabbed a hot piece of metal to defend himself (neither of them remembered what it was), and his thigh, grazed when someone tried to shoot out his knee. James did all of this silently, before tending his own, more numerous wounds.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“Are they going to leave us alone now?”

James looked up from bandaging his own forearm to eye Q calculatingly. He was still crying, and he looked lost and scared. Like a child. He _was_ a child, James reminded himself distantly. Twenty-three years old is only barely done growing. But he had faced death tonight, so he might as well be told the truth.

“No,” James replied. “You’ve inherited your father’s business, and since you’re holed up somewhere they can’t find you, they’ll be certain you’re planning revenge.”

“But they’ll kill me if they find me.”

“Yes.”

The lost look intensified, and James felt suddenly horrible. But no, this was for the better. “Q. We just have to hide for a few days. Once those mercenaries give up and demand their money—because believe me, mercenaries are pretty sloppy when they think they’ve done what they were hired to—we can leave, and go… somewhere. San Francisco, maybe.”

“All of my things are in London,” Q said faintly. “And what if they go for my friends?”

James shrugged. “Your friends either knew this was a possibility or they’re idiots. Don’t trust anyone, Q. No one.”

“Except you.”

James grimaced. “You probably shouldn’t trust me, either,” he admitted.

“But you’ll protect me anyway. Even if I have to pay you myself, you’ll protect me.” Q was looking at him very intensely. His eyes were already red from weeping, but his jaw was set.

James hesitated, meeting his eyes. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say no. Instead what he said was, “I’ll protect you whether or not I’m paid to.”

Q blinked. And then he began to look hopeful. “You will?” he whispered.

James nodded, feeling his face begin to burn. Christ, this was such a bad idea, and he really regretted admitting that—

Until Q was suddenly in his lap and hugging him tightly, his head tucked against James’ shoulder, his arms tight around James’ chest. An old break twinged, a new bruise ached; but James hugged back, and found that he quite liked hugging Q. Which was dangerous. Horrible. They were going to both pay dearly for this. But… right now… right now, James hugged back, and didn’t mind when Q started sobbing on him.

Okay. Yes. He loved Q. Which made him a danger and a liability to Q’s safety, but at the same time, he didn’t care. He got to comfort the person he loved, hold him and rock him and promise softly not to leave him on his own, and that was enough.

~

Three days later, before they left the safe house, Q kissed James, on the lips. James blushed, and Q laughed, shakily. They had talked about a lot of things, locked up together like that, and one of them was that they loved each other. But they hadn’t kissed. They had barely touched. James didn’t trust himself, and Q was still shaking.

But on the jet to San Francisco, they held hands, and when Q handed over the deposit for a new apartment, James kept his arm around Q’s waist.

The first night they shared a bed, they just… huddled together. James was on high alert, because he always was in new situations; Q was still sick from the flight. Eventually, they both must have slept.

It was scary building a new life like this; but they managed. And James didn’t stop protecting Q.


	3. Sweater Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Knitwit, in which Q knits and Bond owns a yarn and supply store. Probably can be found in the depths of my portfolio.

Q didn’t believe in the sweater curse, but when James asked for a sweater, he hesitated.

“I promise I won’t leave,” James told him, and kissed him sweetly, and Q agreed.

It was hard to decide colors, but Q finally decided on shades of blue and the pattern “I’m a luxury few can afford” because it was true. He decided not to keep the project secret; James was delighted by this, and took every opportunity to measure the pieces to track Q’s progress. It was irritating, but endearing.

Joseph’s graduation necessitated a break in sweater-making as Q furiously knitted him a doll of Jaskier from The Witcher, since that was Joseph’s current favorite show. He finished in record time, and presented it solemnly to Joseph the day after the ceremony. His nephew hugged Q hard, a little teary-eyed, and told him, “I like Yennefer more.”

“Yennefer is too pretty,” Q retorted. “Ask James to crochet her for you.”

So James was “commissioned” (Q and Joseph both gave him puppy eyes and he folded) to make a Yennefer doll. Q was rather smug, and Joseph grinned.

The sweater grew quietly, though James continued to measure it.

Summer passed languidly. Autumn arrived. The deep cold set in later than the year before. Q worked faster.

Snow fell, melted, fell, melted. Q worked faster.

A blizzard hit London and everyone was snowed in for a whole 24 hours. Q finished the sweater.

“Does it fit?” he asked, wringing his hands as James tugged it straight. “I tried to keep it loose, and I know you’ve put on more muscle again—”

“Q.” James grinned and put his hands on his hips. “It fits fine. Thank you.”

Q smiled back, relieved. “Oh. Oh, good. I’m glad.”

Take that, Sweater Curse.

**Author's Note:**

> c-comments?


End file.
